


Lay Back for Me

by MercurialTenacity



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bittersweet Ending, Consensual Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, Kink Exploration, Light Drinking, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nightmares, Nipple Play, Objectification, Past Torture, Possessiveness, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Power Exchange, Self-Doubt, Shopping, Trauma Recovery, Under-negotiated Kink, Verbal Humiliation, clothing restriction, temporary marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 06:02:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10507749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialTenacity/pseuds/MercurialTenacity
Summary: Graves is home, safe and sound.  He’ll have a few scars, but little lasting damage.  It’s a miracle, really.  He’d never expected to escape Grindelwald alive.  Which doesn’t explain the way people treat him like he’s made of glass, or his own doubt burrowed deep inside.  He sees the mistrust in people’s eyes, the thought that maybe they should have hired someone who was actually competent.  He might even agree.Newt Scamander is surprisingly easy to talk to.  He even manages to pose some interesting topics that don’t make Graves feel as though he ought to resign.  And there’s something about Newt, something in the way he looks up at Graves, that makes him want totake,and he feels found for the first time since… well, since he was found.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Everything in this fic is consensual, but not necessarily communicated according to best practice. The kink also gets a bit intense, so read on with that in mind!

It starts in February.  Graves is home, safe and sound – more or less – thanks to the dedicated work of his aurors, and one Tina Goldstein in particular.  His injuries have healed.  He’ll have a few scars, but little lasting damage.  It’s a miracle really, all things considered.  He’d never expected to escape Grindelwald alive. 

But he’s home now, safe, the crisis was averted and he’s fine.  Which doesn’t explain why he can’t stand with his back to a room.  Or why he startles at loud noises.  Or why he shouts at people for no good reason, sits up half the night in the dark, feels ill at the sight of his own face in the mirror, or any other countless number of things that someone who is fine most certainly does not do.

People treat him like he’s made of glass.  They skirt around subjects, are careful not to ask too much of him, and offer _anything we can do_ or _whatever you need._  

His job is still there, waiting for him.  Picquery appointed an interim department head of course, but it was made quite plain that when he’s ready to come back everyone will be there to welcome him.  When he’s ready.  Not too soon, they don’t want to pressure him.  It hasn’t escaped their notice, then, that he failed at his job in the most spectacular way possible.  He let the most wanted man in the wizarding world walk into MACUSA unrestricted, and nearly got all of them killed.  Graves may not have been the one actually committing Grindelwald’s atrocities, but it’s his fault they were ever allowed to happen.  And they want him back?  He’s seen it in the eyes of some of his aurors, the thought that maybe they should hire someone who’s actually competent.

The worst part is that he agrees with them.

He wanted to have his life back.  After he figured out where he was, that he was safe, free, he wanted to go back to his life as someone capable and in control.  Every too careful comment reminds him just how far he is from that, all the ways that he’s never truly in control anymore.

So no, he wasn’t going to go back to work and have everyone look at him in pity and distain for all the things Grindelwald took from him.

It’s in February that Tina tells him Newt Scamander is coming for a visit next month.  Tina has talked about Scamander, but Graves has never met him.  He sounds a bit of an odd fellow, but Graves doesn’t suppose he’s the one to judge anymore.  As well as Tina speaks of him, as critical as it seems he was in Grindelwald’s defeat, Graves has no desire to meet him.  The last time he’d spent any degree of time with people was when Tina and Queenie had brought him groceries and stayed for drinks, and that had ended when Tina mentioned seeing a cat round the office and he shouted at her that he hated cats.  He’d spent the rest of the evening alone in his room feeling guilty and foolish because, well.  He likes cats.

Meeting a stranger he knows so little about, who succeeded where he so catastrophically failed, does not seem a sound idea.  But Tina is so set on the idea of having a dinner, and even now – perhaps especially now – he can’t bring himself to tell her no.

So in early March Scamander arrives on his ship, and Graves arrives at the Goldstein sisters’ apartment.

Graves met Theseus Scamander during the war, they even still correspond occasionally.  Newt Scamander has his brother’s same red hair, but the way he carries himself and the downcast of his eyes is nothing like Theseus.  Newt truly does look like he would be more comfortable among the creatures Tina has told him about than at a dinner table, though he converses well enough.  It’s not an entirely unpleasant evening, though Graves is ready to leave about an hour before the gathering concludes.  The conversation is kept fairly light, and isn’t actually too forced once Scamander gets talking about his creatures.  Still, Graves is tired and he would like to go home.

 

\--------------------

 

Graves receives the note a few days later.  Scamander enjoyed his company at dinner, it says, and would Graves mind terribly if he came round for a visit?

Graves would mind terribly, as it happens.  He absolutely would.

 _Not receiving visitors,_ he scrawls on the back of the letter, _would hate to occupy too much of your visit to New York._

He sends it back with the very same owl.

Newt’s reply, received the next morning, is to the point.

_Expect me 4:00 on Thursday._

Graves transfigures the note to ash by way of lighting it on fire with his wand.

 

\--------------------

 

When 4:00 on Thursday finally arrives Graves considers not answering the door.  Scamander is punctual at least – Graves hears the knock just as the clock on his mantel ticks to 4:01.  As much as he would like to leave Scamander standing out on the front step and hopes that he would go away eventually, Graves rises from his chair to let him in.

“Mr Scamander.”

“Ah!  Mr Graves.”  Scamander has an eager sort of anxiousness about him, seeming genuinely glad to be here and completely overlooking what Graves is sure is his less than enthusiastic bearing.

“Well, come in.”  Graves takes him through to the sitting room, remembers at the last moment to offer him a drink, and hopes to heaven he can make it through this social encounter while seeming like a reasonable person.

“What can I do for you?”

“I was hoping we might continue our discussion on centaurs.  Your government’s views of magical beings are quite different from those in Britain, and we never quite did get around to the more interesting aspects.”

Graves blinks.  Whatever he had expected, that wasn’t it.  He’d thought that perhaps there would be questions about magical security, the wizarding community of New York, what it was like coming back after Grindelwald, all the little painful things that people seem to think pass for small talk and that make him want to set fire to his house.  Centaurs are… not his department.  But it is something he knows about.  He’s heard the policy discussions and he certainly does know what wizards generally think of the creatures.  And Scamander does look interested.

They talk for a while.  Scamander isn’t the most graceful conversation partner, but he is engaging and doesn’t seem fazed by – or even to notice – the occasional awkward silence.  It’s surprisingly easy to keep the conversation going.  They wander from centaurs to goblins to wand regulations, and Scamander manages to pose some interesting questions that don’t make Graves feel as though he ought to resign.

By the time Graves gets to the point that he’s feeling irritable and in danger of snapping at unsuspecting targets regardless of how agreeable the conversation is, Scamander is already gathering his things and thanking him for a pleasant afternoon.

Graves is left with the slightly disconcerting feeling of having enjoyed himself.

And if he happens to mention to Tina a couple of days later that it wouldn’t be wholly inconvenient to see Scamander again, well.

They see each other rather a lot over the next week, at least compared to Graves’ recent standards of seeing no one.  Newt always manages to find a subject on which to ask Graves’ opinion, something he’s knowledgeable about but not anything unpleasant.  The way that Newt takes Graves’ surety and experience as a given rather than something suspect pending investigation is freeing in a way Graves hasn’t felt for a long time.

They’re talking about recent trends in fashion one afternoon – Graves always had dressed sharply, still does when he has the energy – when he mentions that Newt might try a different cut of waistcoat.

He is surprised, the next time Newt shows up at his door, to see that he has.  And it does look good on him.  He raises his eyebrows.

“Very nice.”

“Only as instructed.”  Newt flashes a nervous grin and looks down at himself.  “I wasn’t sure of the fabric.”

And no, the fabric isn’t right.  Graves reaches out to feel it, takes Newt’s lapel between his fingers.  It’s too light for the season, won’t stand up to the chill still in the air.  The quality is nothing to remark upon.  He’s not convinced of the color, either.

“Well, I’ll have to take you shopping.  Pick it out for you properly.”

Graves isn’t sure if he meant it to be a joke, but that ceases to matter when Newt says “All right.”

So he takes Newt shopping.

Graves has a good tailor, always did expect the best from his clothes.  He gets Newt measured, selects the fabrics for him, decides on two different styles to try, and enjoys watching Newt stand uncomfortably still while a tape measure is looped round his chest.  He pays for it all.  The fact that Newt trusts his judgment is implicit.  He realizes later that he never once asked Newt’s opinion, and Newt never offered it.

The waistcoats are ready the morning before another dinner at Queenie and Tina’s.  Graves has Newt try them on, and decides on a new bowtie for him as well.  It’s good timing, there’ll be a reason for Newt to wear his new clothes tonight at dinner and it will give Graves a chance to show him off.  Because he does look quite good.  Graves loops the bowtie around Newt’s neck himself, as a finishing touch.  Never mind that Newt could do it himself, and could do it perfectly with magic.  Graves pulls it snug, loops the fabric through and tightens it down.  He has to resist the urge to run his hands over the fabric and smooth down Newt’s chest and sides before he steps back to take in the sight.  Newt isn’t overdressed, Graves hadn’t chosen anything too formal, but he does look rather sporting.  And rather at ease under Graves’ gaze.

Graves enjoys the way that Queenie’s eyes catch on Newt’s clothes that night at dinner, while simultaneously being glad that his Occlumency is up to par.  But Queenie giggles as Newt blushes slightly, and Graves wonders what she sees in his head.

 

\--------------------

 

Newt is over for dinner on a Tuesday evening when the car outside backfires.  Graves has started cooking more often again, and he’s found he likes cooking for Newt.  They’re in the kitchen and he’s preparing the vegetables, holding a bowl of carrots, when the sound rips through the room.  He jumps, drops the bowl, mind going blank with shock and alarm.  It only takes a moment for him to realize what it was, but it’s enough to leave his hands shaking and a mess on the floor.  By some miracle the bowl hasn’t broken, but there are carrot bits scattered to the far ends of the room.

Graves closes his eyes and breathes through his nose as the embarrassment starts to well up in his chest.

“Ah, let me –” Newt pulls out his wand, prepared no doubt to summon the carrots into a neat little pile.

“Stop.”  Graves doesn’t know what he’s thinking or what his plan is, but he knows he can’t control the cars outside and he can’t control his own god damned body, and he needs to control _something._   Newt is paused, watching Graves with a sort of expectation.

All Graves says is “No magic.”

Newt tucks his wand away, dropping to his hands and knees without hesitation.  Graves watches as he crawls around on the kitchen floor, gathering up carrots by hand, and the site of it does something to Graves that he’s not prepared to describe.

 

\--------------------

 

It goes on like that, more and more.  Little things usually.  Graves tells Newt where to sit, serves his food, when to come over.  Graves asks Newt about it once, or tries to.  It’s awkward, not something Graves has ever had to think about how to bring up.  It’s getting late and they’re in the sitting room, talking and laughing about nothing in particular.  There’s a comfortable lull, and Graves can’t very well let it go on – it, the way of things, the situation – without saying something to acknowledge it.

“How are you liking your waistcoats?”  It’s not direct.  It’s not at all direct, but it’s an opening.

“They’re lovely,” Newt says enthusiastically.  “Fit like a dream, better than anything I could have come by.  I’ve been meaning to say – well, to say thank you.”

And that’s good.  But it’s still only talking about waistcoats.

“I might – well, if you were willing, I might defer to your judgment again.”

“Looking to expand your wardrobe?”

“If you think I ought.  But I had in mind something a bit… more generalized.”

That is definitely not talking about waistcoats. Graves takes in Newt’s tentative, hopeful expression, and considers him carefully.  He considers exactly what conversation he thinks he’s having, the complicated, warm ways it makes him feel, and the look in Newt’s eyes.

“Yes.  I think you’d better.”

 

\--------------------

 

He buys Newt more clothes.  It’s expensive, but it’s nothing he can’t afford.  It’s worth it to see Newt dressed up for him.  He selects trousers, shirts, two new jackets, all mindful of Newt’s tastes but cut to favor his figure.  He murmurs _hold still_ in Newt’s ear and watches the measuring tape stretch across his body.

The next time they go in for a fitting Graves doesn’t stop himself from running his hands over the fabric draped across Newt’s chest.  He smooths over Newt’s shoulders, down his front, and lets his hands rest on the fabric gathered around his waist.  Newt blushes under his hands while Graves’ tailor turns discreetly away.

Seeing Newt dressed according to Graves’ standards gives him a hot, possessive feeling deep in his chest, and eventually he stops denying it.  Occasionally he’ll suggest to Newt what he should be wearing the next time he comes by, and Newt always remembers.  Graves will inspect him, doesn’t bother to be subtle about it, while Newt drops his gaze and flushes pale pink.  It’s lovely, beautiful to see Newt melt before him, and it makes Graves want to do the most ungentlemanly things to him.

 

\--------------------

 

Newt stays late after dinner one night, talking and laughing and blushing.  Newt is adorable when he’s had a few drinks, happy and leaning into any little touch.  It makes Graves want to touch him more.  Newt gets quiet when Graves touches him, still and breathy.  He’s wearing the tan waistcoat with the blue flecks and one of his crisp new white shirts, both cut to show off the smooth lines of his waist and chest.  They’re sitting close enough that Graves can rest a hand on Newt’s arm, and he brushes his fingers over the soft skin at the inside of Newt’s wrist as he talks.  Newt hums, tips his head back and closes his eyes.  Graves watches his chest rise and fall.  Graves has had a drink or two himself, and it fills him with a warm sort of buzz, a muted awareness of their presence and energy in the room.  He lapses into silence, breathing in the scent of whiskey and freshly starched fabric.  The clock on the mantel ticks into the easy silence.  Graves lets his hand wander up to the crook of Newt’s elbow, stroking gently through the thin, fine fabric of his shirt.  He can see the last of the tension easing from Newt’s body, and Newt lets out a deep sigh as he sinks into the chair.  The air is heavy as if with expectation, but without any of the stiffness.

It’s comfortable to sit here with Newt, to keep Newt here with him, and to feel the warmth of his skin under his hands.  Graves wants more, though he doesn’t know exactly of what.  Of Newt, yes.  More of Newt, and more of Newt’s acquiescence.

His hand starts to travel, and he trails the tips of his fingers from Newt’s elbow to his wrist.  Back and forth, in gentle motions.  He feels the shiver that runs through Newt’s body, and it seems to him odd that such a simple gesture should be so intimate. 

But it is.

Graves leans forward in his chair and runs his fingers up to Newt’s collar bone.  He traces over the ridges there, bones standing out in relief under Newt’s skin.  It’s appropriate.  Newt is all sharp, awkward angles, but he’s at peace with himself in a way that makes Graves want to _take._   And as Newt lies there in his chair, eyes closed and head tipped back, breathing under Graves’ touch, it occurs to him that perhaps he can.  There’s a thin distinction between Newt giving and Graves taking.  Perhaps Graves is taking what’s given, or perhaps Newt is giving what was always going to be taken, or perhaps it doesn’t matter at all as Newt opens his eyes and smiles slow and easy.

Graves rises to stand above him.  He slips his hand around the back of Newt’s neck and pulls him up and forward, pulls him up to standing.  He takes Newt by the shoulders and holds him like that.  Newt stands in front of him dressed in clothes Graves chose for him, standing there because Graves put him there, and it feels good.

Graves hears the clock from the church down the street chime two o’clock.  It’s late.  Newt can’t possibly walk through the streets at this hour.  Not after he’s been drinking and while he’s caught up in… well.  Whatever it is Newt gets from his side of this.

“You’ll stay.”  He growls it low in Newt’s ear, and Newt nods.

 

\--------------------

 

It’s not physical.  Not entirely.  Or it is, but it’s also the knowledge that Newt is asleep on his couch and will be there in the morning.  That Newt will let Graves put his hands on him, and that Newt looks as Graves has told him to.  There’s a comfort in it, and an excitement.  Graves doesn’t exactly sleep well that night – he hasn’t for months – but it’s better.

In the morning Newt is still asleep when Graves wakes up.  There’s a moment, when Graves sees him asleep on the couch in the morning sunlight, where he wonders what it would be like to wake with Newt beside him.  Graves makes coffee and starts the rest of breakfast going.  He sits beside Newt in the living room with a steaming mug in hand and watches as Newt first starts to stir.  Graves wonders if it will be the same in the daylight, without the help of alcohol and darkness to help them mask what they want.  It would be easy, he thinks, to fall back into the polite camaraderie more typical of two men.

Newt opens his eyes and squints, sleepy and tousle haired, pulling the blanket tighter around himself as he looks around the room.  His eyes fall on Graves, and he stills.  He doesn’t smile exactly, but Graves could swear he sees relief.  His face smooths out and he watches Graves with an expectant calmness.  Graves smiles in satisfaction.

They’re sitting over breakfast when Newt looks up at him, a little nervously.  “I was thinking I might, ah.  Extend my stay in New York.”

Graves takes a bite of toast and considers him.  “The hotel must be costing you a fortune.”

“That’s New York, as I understand it.  Nothing unless you want it enough to pay for it.”

Graves nods.  “You’ll stay with me.”

 

\--------------------

 

They work out the rules between them.  It’s a subtle sort of give and take.  They try one thing, and they try it again or they don’t, and then they try something else.  It’s a slow process, a sort of exploration as they feel out the corners of this thing.  Newt likes to be touched, Graves discovers, and he doesn’t like to have a say about when or where.  Graves has taken to placing a hand on the back of his neck, or pressing little circles into his palm, the crook of his elbow, or the small of his back while Newt is talking, and then watching his words trail off.  Graves enjoys seeing Newt go loose and pliant under his hands and his words, feeling Newt melt under his touch.  He whispers in Newt’s ear, filthy things he shouldn’t say but that feel right.  _Look at you, so good for me.  Dressed up pretty for me.  What would you do without me, hm? Helpless little thing.  You’re mine._

Newt isn’t helpless.  Far from it.  But the look Newt gets in his eyes when Graves says it and the warmth that pools in Graves’ stomach makes him say it anyway.  It feels good to say and it feels good to think about, even if they both know it isn’t true.  When they’re together, they let it be true.

Graves has no idea what they’re doing.  Not that he feels lost, he feels found for the first time since… since he was found.  But he has no words for it, has never heard of an arrangement like it.  It doesn’t make sense that Newt should like it.  Why should anyone like it?  He nearly asks thrice before he actually gets up the words.  When he finds them they’re lying on the couch, Newt’s head on his chest.  Graves is stroking through his hair, playing with his curls and keeping him in place.  Newt won’t move unless Graves tells him to.

“Do you like it, when I treat you like this?”

Graves feels Newt tense up against him and squirm a little, but he doesn’t pull away.  He remembers to be good.  After a moment, he nods.  Newt doesn’t like to talk when they’re like this.  He makes little sounds sometimes, but he doesn’t usually converse unless it’s necessary or Graves asks him to.  It’s not a rule, but it could be if Newt wanted.  Graves knows he’s being direct, but in this thing they’ve set up it’s his prerogative.

“Do you?” he prompts.  He keeps his voice gentle, but still firm.  He wants to know.

“Yes.”

Graves frowns, though Newt can’t see it.  There’s several moments of silence, and Graves nearly thinks that’s the best he’s going to get before Newt speaks again.

“It’s safe.  It makes me feel safe.  People don’t… people generally find me annoying.  They wait for me to leave, they don’t tell me to stay.  You… did.”

And that, that is enough.  Graves may not understand completely, but he understands enough to continue.  He settles his hand on the back of Newt’s neck and presses him in close.

“Thank you.”

 

\--------------------

 

Graves still hasn’t gone back to work, but it’s not, at the present time, something he’s overly concerned with.  The thought of walking into MACUSA brings up too many things he’d rather not think about, and too many concerns he doesn’t want to address.  He does go out more, though.  He goes out a lot more.  It’s still unpleasant to be out in crowds, and he doesn’t appreciate the noisiness that so often accompanies it, but it’s easier.  And really, Newt doesn’t like particularly loud or crowded places either, so between the two of them it’s not too difficult. 

He can’t be quite as overt with Newt in public.  Even if he doesn’t quite know what this is, he knows very well that it’s not something to be seen by the general population.  But it does continue.  A subtle touch or even a look can be enough to tell Newt where he should be, and there’s always the satisfaction of seeing Newt dressed according to his instructions.  It makes everything feel a bit simpler to know that Newt is waiting for his control.

It’s when they get home from lunch one day that Graves looks at Newt and knows exactly what he wants.  After choosing his food, sitting across the table from him for an hour, being so close to him but not able to touch, Graves is done with waiting.

He pins Newt against the wall as soon as the front door is closed, hands on his chest and pressing in close.  Newt hits the wall with a thump and a gasp, and Graves is already moving to slide one hand around his neck.

“Thought you could tease me like that?”

Newt’s eyes flutter and he makes a small, soft sound.  He’d been energetic and talkative on the walk back, and the quickness with which he becomes quiet and malleable makes Graves’ mouth water.  Newt melts against him, accepting and open to Graves’ rough touches as Graves slides his other hand down to caress Newt’s waist.

“Sitting there all through lunch…” Graves is whispering into Newt’s ear, breath hot against his cheek, bodies touching.  “I’m going to take what’s mine.”

Graves wants to kiss him, so he does.  He’s not concerned about whether Newt wants it.  He doesn’t have to be, they’d established that.  He takes Newt’s face in his hands and draws him forward, and Newt goes unresistingly.  Graves has no idea if Newt thinks of men that way, but it really doesn’t matter.  He presses their lips together and Newt lets his mouth fall open, body loose and pliant under Graves’ touch.  Graves presses his tongue into Newt’s mouth, licks in deeply to taste him, kisses him long and slow and possessive.  Newt lets Graves control his head as Graves sucks at his lips, his tongue, Newt’s mouth soft and open to anything Graves wants to do.

When Graves pulls back Newt is flushed and dazed, mouth shining wetly and lips still parted.  Graves takes in the sight of him, ready and willing to be used however Graves wishes, with complete trust for whatever Graves wants of him.

Graves places a hand on the side of his neck and leans in to lick from his shoulder up to his ear.  He nips lightly, enjoying the feel of Newt’s skin pinching under his teeth.  Newt is still for it, obedient and accepting as Graves runs his tongue over his skin.  He slides his hands down Newt’s chest, down his sides, feeling the shape of him through the fabric.  It’s good, it’s lovely, but Graves wants more.

“Take off your shirt,” he says roughly into Newt’s ear.

Newt’s hands move instantly to undo his buttons, and Graves hums in satisfaction as he continues to lap at Newt’s neck.  It must be a bit awkward for Newt to undress himself while Graves continues to kiss him, but it’s really not Graves’ concern so long as Newt does what he asks.  When Newt’s shirt slips from his shoulders Graves lets it fall to the floor, and he thinks Newt might just fall as well if he didn’t lock an arm around him and hold him up.

“Shh, I’ve got you.”  Newt’s head is resting on his shoulder and Graves presses a hand to the back of his neck to hold him there.  “You just relax.  You relax and let me use you.”

Newt moans, and Graves’ grip on his neck tightens.  He pulls Newt the few feet over to the couch and presses him down against it, climbing on top of him to straddle his hips.  Newt is so soft under him, so trusting, and Graves would never have admitted to himself that he needed this if it weren’t his to take.

He runs his hands up Newt’s chest, strokes over the lines of his muscles as he presses his thigh between Newt’s legs and his lips back to the base of Newt’s neck.  He licks over the skin there, the softest touch, before he seals his lips against Newt’s throat and sucks.  He sucks hard, runs his tongue over Newt’s skin in his mouth as he does so, and Newt moans under him, shifting his head to provide Graves unimpeded access to the delicate skin.  Graves shifts his thumbs up to stroke lightly over the hard points of Newt’s nipples, enjoying the feel under his hands.  They lay like that for long minutes, Graves teasing Newt’s nipples and sucking at him deeply, while Newt’s body is relaxed under him.  It’s incredible to feel Newt like this, warm and still and accepting.

When Graves’ lips leave Newt’s skin there’s a bright pink circle left behind, and Graves licks over it slowly.  Newt is flushed, eyes closed and head tipped back, his bare chest smooth under Graves’ hands.  Graves watches the rise and fall of his chest as he pants, the way his hair falls in his face, the dark bruise blooming at the base of his neck.

Graves takes one of Newt’s nipples between his thumb and forefinger and roles it, pinching sharply.  Newt gasps, eyes flying open with surprise.  Graves doesn’t stop, enjoying the feel of the stiff little nub and the thin pink skin.  With his other hand Graves pushes Newt’s cheek to the side, turning his head away without glancing up.  He doesn’t much care to have Newt staring wide eyed at him, doesn’t much care for Newt’s reactions at all.  Graves just wants to play with his body, and Newt doesn’t need to have opinions about that.  Graves presses his thumbs into Newt’s nipples, rubbing deep circles until Newt’s body starts to relax again.  Graves likes to have him loose and pliant. 

The first time Newt arches up into his touch Graves pulls his hands away, doesn’t continue until Newt stops moving.  The second time he squeezes Newt’s nipples, tugs sharp and hard.  Newt lets out a little cry of pain, but he’s still after that.  Graves doesn’t mind Newt’s body responding, even likes his involuntary little squirms, but this is not about what Newt wants.  Graves doesn’t need Newt wiggling all over the place looking for something in particular and trying to dictate how Graves should use him.

He keeps pinching and tugging at Newt’s nipples, not quite as hard but hard enough to make Newt whimper.  Graves likes the way they get red and puffy, swollen under his fingertips.  He works at it until Newt is squirming away from him instead of towards him and is letting out little cries with every twist.  Graves loves the sound, can’t get enough of it, but he wants to move on to other things.

He licks over the hollow of Newt’s throat and works down his chest with teeth and tongue until he gets to his navel, hands gripping his hips.  He slips a finger under Newt’s waistband, teasing, just to feel the way Newt shivers.  Graves makes short work of the rest of Newt’s clothes, stripping him until he’s laid out bare on the couch under him.

Graves wants to fuck him so badly.

But he’s not done playing yet.  He wants to draw this out and get the most that he can from Newt’s unresisting body.  Newt’s cock is hardening but Graves ignores it, instead running his hands over Newt’s hipbones and slipping his hands down to feel Newt’s ass.  He slides a finger behind Newt’s balls and strokes it down until he reaches Newt’s hole, just brushing the entrance.  Newt gasps and pushes his hips forward.

“Oh, you like that.  You want me to play with your little hole?  Hm?”

Newt doesn’t respond and Graves doesn’t really want him to.  He pulls himself up until he’s on top of Newt again, one hand still pressing at Newt’s hole, and lets his weight settle over Newt’s chest.  With his other hand he takes Newt’s chin, gripping hard, and whispers into his ear.

“You were made for this.  Made to be played with.  You know that?  This is what you’re for.”

He punctuates his words by pressing against Newt’s hole, making Newt whimper and shake under him.

“You’ll lie still for it.  Just let yourself be used.  Let me push into that sweet hole of yours and don’t say a word sweetheart, just take it.  It’s what your body needs.”

Newt is nodding dazedly, eyes unfocused and staring up at him, and Graves shakes him.

“I said lie _still._ ”

Newt makes a tiny lost sound and Graves is kissing him again, he can’t help it.  He eventually pulls back enough to get his wand out of his pocket, and he presses the tip to Newt’s hole and conjures enough slick to ease the way.  It’s a useful little spell.  He presses the tip of his finger in and feels Newt squeezing around him, presses deeper, deeper into Newt’s soft insides.  Newt moans high and loud, and Graves taps his palm against Newt’s cheek.

“Quiet.”

Newt gasps, but that’s all.  Graves works his finger in and out, loosening Newt up quickly.  Graves doesn’t want to hurt him, but he has no particular desire to be gentle either.  When he presses a second finger in Newt cries out, and Graves slaps him hard enough to turn his head to the side.  Any last resistance in Newt’s body vanishes completely.  His hole relaxes around Graves’ fingers and he doesn’t bother to turn his head back, mouth hanging open slightly as he gazes vacantly at the upholstery on the back of the couch.  Graves wants to do so many things to his body.  He wants to bite at Newt’s sore nipples, finger fuck his open, wet mouth, see just how loose he can get around Graves’ hand, but he can’t ignore his own cock anymore.  He forces Newt’s legs apart though Newt offers no resistance, just lying there and letting himself get fucked.

Graves lines his cock up and presses in, groaning when his head slips inside.  Newt’s hole is warm and tight and Graves presses in deep, the slide and the friction feeling incredible.  Newt lies there unmoving through it all.  When Graves starts to thrust Newt’s body rocks under him and he starts to make high, breathy little _uh, uh, uh_ sounds.  Graves lets it go.  He doesn’t figure Newt knows he’s doing it, or possibly even knows where he is, judging by the completely slack expression on his face.  He’s just a body, reacting to having Graves’ cock stuck up its ass.  Newt’s hole twitches involuntarily around him, and it’s drawing him so, so close to the edge.  He reaches down, grabs Newt’s cock and twists, and the contractions of Newt’s hole as he comes sends a wave of pleasure through Graves’ whole body and his cock pulses deep into Newt’s ass.

Graves gasps for long moments, Newt limp under him, and he pulls his cock out with a wet, slick sound.  There’s a thin line of come trickling out of Newt’s ass, and Graves chases it back in with a finger.  Graves considers the scene laid out before him, and trails his hand through the come striping Newt’s stomach.  He gathers it up on his fingers and presses it to Newt’s lax hole, catching any that drips out, and making sure any last bit he can collect is inside.

Graves cups Newt’s cheek and turns his head back, placing himself in Newt’s empty line of sight.

“Say ‘thank you for putting come in my ass.’”

“Tha…”

“That’s it, sweetheart.  Say it.”

“Thank you…for putting come in my ass...”  Newt blinks, eyes still not quite focusing.

“Say ‘thank you for using me.’”

“Thank you for using me.”

“’Please use me again.’”

“Please… use me again.”

“That’s right.”

Graves holds Newt for a long time, petting his hair and stroking his cheek, murmuring to him how good he is as Newt comes back to himself.  Newt is clingy for the rest of the night, wanting Graves to be touching him and talking to him, and Graves doesn’t mind at all.

 

\--------------------

 

Their lives aren’t all that strange, not really.  Newt still has his routines, still cares for his creatures and works on his book.  They still talk, have their own interests, complain about the news.  It’s not the only part of their lives, nor is it the only thing they have in common.  But when Graves gives an order, Newt obeys.  And Newt has certain rules.  He’s not allowed to cover the marks Graves gives him.  He’s to do as Graves says.  And when Graves touches him, he’s to let him do what he wants.

It’s unspoken mostly, not something either of them tries to put into words.  It’s not the sort of thing for words.  Graves wonders sometimes if Newt needs it as much as he does, but it’s not the sort of thing that can be asked.  It had been Newt’s initiative, Newt’s persistence really, that got them here.  Graves had determined that Newt wasn’t doing it to indulge him, or out of any strange sense of obligation.  Newt really has no reason to feel he owes anything to Graves.  Graves isn’t grateful exactly – that would sort of undermine the premise – but he is glad.  Newt has just as much call to be cautious around him as anyone else does after what Grindelwald did, more so perhaps since Newt had never met him before, but Newt has never, not once, acted as though he were less than a decent person.

 

\--------------------

 

_Grindelwald is laughing at him.  A genuine, amused laugh as he writhes on the ground, choking out screams and begging with broken breath._

_“Please – please, I’ll do anything, just please – Ahh – stop – stop, please –”_

_Grindelwald doesn’t stop, he never stops, he is never going to stop._

_“Oh my dear Director, why ever would I do that?  You’ll do anything I say anyway.”_

_He will, he knows he will.  He has nothing to offer, nothing to bargain with, there is nothing he has that Grindelwald can’t simply take.  He’s far past words now, screaming, screaming with all that’s left of him._

He’s still screaming when Newt shakes him awake, shouting and thrashing and not sure of where he is.

“Percival!  Percival you’re safe, you’re home, it’s all right –”

Graves manages to focus on Newt propped up beside him, and he stops fighting, breathing slowing slightly.  He may be home and safe, but it is most certainly not all right.  Newt’s face is creased with worry and concern and an attempt at comfort, and those are all the very last things Graves needs.  He takes a moment, gets his bearings in his room and in his head.  He’s home, dull winter sunlight is just starting to illuminate the curtains, and Newt is lying beside him in bed.  In one quick movement Graves pushes Newt back down and rolls on top of him.  Newt makes a small noise of surprise which Graves cuts off with his lips.  He kisses Newt roughly, forcing his mouth open and biting at his lips, and he still doesn’t feel calm or even really all that safe, but he knows exactly what he needs.

Graves keeps Newt like that for a long time, biting at his lips and his neck and pressing him deep into the pillows.  For all his roughness, there’s nothing urgent about it.  The light through the curtains gets brighter and Graves’ mind starts to clear.  Eventually he slows, his weight is pressed over Newt and just listening to the beating of their hearts.  He drifts off again at some point, a light and shifting sleep before the sunlight fills the room and the day slips over them.

 

\--------------------

 

As time goes on, Graves needs it... less.  Less urgently, less often.  He still likes it, and it still fills something deep inside him he didn’t know was empty.  But he needs it less.

He gets an owl from Picquery inquiring again, in very careful terms, how he feels he’s doing.  The cautious tone may be meant to give him space, it may be out of respect, but it still makes him feel as though he’s being diminished.  But damn it all, how much does it really matter.  He can walk back into MACUSA and if they don’t believe he’s capable, he can show them.  He will take the respect that’s his.

He sends a reply proposing the date of his return.

Preparing is a bigger ordeal than he thought it would be.  When he remembers the proportion of his job which involves paperwork he nearly writes his resignation before Newt talks him down.  But he does want to go back.  No matter how much he cares for Newt and cares for how they are, and no matter how many shows and meals out and shopping trips they take, not being busy is starting to make him tired.  He always had been a career man. 

Thinking through the logistics of the transition and corresponding with Picquery begins to take up larger parts of his day.  He starts receiving policy updates again, and when it takes three owls to deliver what Picquery considers the essential things he’s missed he can only stare in amazed concern.  He nearly doesn’t make it through reading the report of the Grindelwald incident.  He can’t read the file on himself, but he doesn’t suppose he’s expected to.  He was there, after all.  But he wouldn’t have made it through half of it if he didn’t make Newt lay his head in Graves’ lap and twist his fingers into Newt’s hair, stroking over his cheek and neck, and occasionally slipping his fingers past Newt’s lips to feel the soft inside of his mouth.

When the day finally comes he faces it with a sort of determined resignation.  He dispensed with nervousness early in his career, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling apprehension.  He dresses well, kisses Newt before he leaves the house, and walks through the doors of MACUSA with a confidence.

It’s both familiar and disorienting.  There have been changes in the department.  Only the sort that occur in the normal course of business, nothing drastic, but just enough to make him feel at first that he’s missed a step.  Most of the day is spent getting caught up on the affairs and running of things, and of course on filling out paperwork.  But really, though it’s awkward at times, it’s not that bad.  It’s not that nobody has doubts, but more that they don’t seem to think it wise to express them with Director Graves sweeping back into the office.  It will do.

Graves makes dinner when he gets home, kisses Newt against a wall, and takes him to bed.  It feels odd for these two parts of his life to coexist.  Newt and his profession seem like entirely separate entities, and Graves is the only factor linking them.  He doesn’t talk about work much with Newt, because he never had.  That was part of the point.

The next few weeks go well.  Graves resumes his position with little challenge, either from others or himself.  The first week is hectic, a whirlwind of briefings and forms and reviews.  But once it settles down it’s not really all that different from before.  It’s not the same, it never will be, but it’s all right.  He settles back into a routine with his department and his colleagues, and when the next magical crisis arises he’s equipped to handle it.  He starts working late again and he feels bad about that, but it’s as it always was.

 

\--------------------

 

So it ends in June.  The ending is a regret, it is.  Graves would have liked for it to continue.  He also understands when it can’t.  It’s a slow sort of deceleration.  It’s amicable and friendly, there’s no contention.  It’s just reached its close.  So he lets it go.

The night before Newt leaves Graves fucks him hard, takes from him everything he can and more.  Newt gives it all up, holds nothing back from him, and begs for more.

Neither of them promise to write, because how can this possibly span the Atlantic?  Newt doesn’t even know where he’ll be next month, he goes wherever his research takes him.  Tina and Queenie come to see Newt off, and if Queenie casts a few sympathetic looks in his direction he takes no notice.  They have a friend to say farewell to as well, this doesn’t have to be about him.  It’s bigger than all of that.

He feels Newt’s absence and notices the places in his life where Newt should be but isn’t.  He almost wishes it hurt him more.  But he finally starts to feel normal again, and he’s glad.  He’s sure of himself and his position.  When he has moments of panic, moments of startlement – and he does – he knows how to calm himself.  He continues.  Occasionally he hears of Newt from Tina, and he’s glad to know that he’s doing well.  He discovered some new creature apparently, and is already writing it into his book.  Though it wouldn’t have been in the spirit of the thing, Graves does let himself feel grateful.  He doesn’t know what they had, but he knows it saved his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [ mercurial-tenacity.tumblr.com ](http://mercurial-tenacity.tumblr.com/)! :)


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